


Of Mice and Lacrosse

by CremeEgg



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Malory Towers - Enid Blyton
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Fusion, Genderswap, Other, bizarre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CremeEgg/pseuds/CremeEgg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie Maturin, and Jacqui Aubrey start off school on the wrong foot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Mice and Lacrosse

**Author's Note:**

> My only apology is that I wish this could have been better. I've stolen the characters from O'Brian, the setting from Blyton, and what could with a generous pinch of charity be called a style has been contributed by me. Part 1 of 2. Second part is four thousand words or so, but I wanted to get a bit uploaded.

"Oh it's the most terrible cheek," chimed in Thomasina, who quite patently could not conceive of anyone not loving Jacqui as she ought to be loved. "I hope you squashed her hard Jacqui." 

Jacqui Aubrey, a tall yellow haired girl dressed in the smart Malory Towers uniform looked thoughtful as she stuffed her lacrosse stick back in its locker. "It's her first term perhaps we should let it slip this once." It was only partially motivated by kindness to the sullen new girl who had excited no-one's friendship, and rather more by the knowledge that Mrs Harte who was the new form tutor had no great fondness for her, and would be watching with quick eyes for anything that would give her an excuse to strip the prefect's badge from her. "On the other hand she really ought to know practice rooms aren’t so heavily scheduled as all that."

The girl in question was the newest addition to the form, unusual this late in the school. Whereas Jacqui happily fell in and out of trouble half a dozen times a day, and sunnily brushed off these difficulties with the charm that had mistresses excuse her, and classmates love her, Stephanie Maturin was of a different ilk, and her fiery foreign temper had bemused her classmates, who had assumed that her rather plain demeanour had hid shyness rather than bitingly caustic wit. By sheer fact of the bad luck that she had taken a place in the dorm that everyone had known was meant for Lucy, she had begun the term rather disliked than otherwise.

This had led to the present situation where Stephanie’s hand was against the world, and the world in the shape of her form room was against her for the most part inasmuch as they thought of her at all. It had been decided that it was cheek of the highest order, in fact cheek on a massive scale that hadn’t been seen since the French student before last. (The current French student was Christie Palliere, given to the usual effusions of the French- including unmannerly caresses, a heavy accent, and but saved from the usual infamy by a quite remarkable capacity for and enjoyment of sport, being commonly reckoned one of the only girls who could put up a spirited defence against the ship that was Jacqui in full sail.)

Jacqui's only encounters with her at this point, beyond the cursory had been unfortunate. Stephanie was decidedly poor in maths and Miss Potts had already threatened her with extra tutoring, and this being a subject that Jacqui excelled at gave her cause to have a slight sense of pity for the unfortunate creature who allowed algebra to bother her in such a way. Her attempt to point out the obvious mistake in Stephanie's prep had been met with a decidedly frosty reception. Stephanie's French, excellent when spoken aloud, (though not anything more than riddled with mistakes when it came to prep), and her reciprocal mockery of Jacqui's decidedly English pronunciation of certain French words had seen them draw silent blades with the advantage to Jacqui's side.

More than that however it was Stephanie's complete and utter lack of team spirit or school pride that most divided her from her classmates. Jacqui in her simple fashion was more than happy to play up for the school, especially when it involved hearty running and catching of the sort she loved, the camaraderie of the team together and the joy of being allowed to act as captain, and the refusal of Stephanie to make up a set of doubles when called upon to do so, or to swim as much as a single stroke or even to make herself useful and keep score, was a sore puzzlement to her. 

It was not likely however that their paths should cross much. Jacqui, exulting in her position as head-girl of the form, and daring to dream even of the possibility some day of the head-girl-ship (a position she dearly longed for,) could not be expected to think much of such an insignificant being, and would have quite gladly not thought of her had it not been for the incident of the practice room.

Among her many accomplishments, Jacqui played the violin, and not as badly as most school-girls her age did. It was rumoured that the music master found it a positive pleasure to listen to her, though such heresy was quashed sternly, the girls finding it almost an embarrassment that their leader should be gifted in anything as un-English as pleasant music. Notwithstanding this faint aura of the declasse though, it was commonly acknowledged that with her sports responsibilities, form responsibilities and all round good-eggness, that it was only right and fair that Jacqui be exempted from the requirement of booking a practice room.

When Stephanie had been handed the solemn brown and gold edged card which discreetly carried the prospectus of Malory Towers, she had not in the same breath been gifted with a written list of the unwritten rules, and it was this oversight that had led to the misunderstanding.

Not knowing that practice time was liable to be altered, Stephanie had escaped from the rather hostile atmosphere of her form room, and secure in the knowledge that despite her rather flighty memory she had booked time where she might be alone with her cello, her pet mice and her copy of John Gould’s A Monograph of the Trochilidae, she was comparatively and tentatively happy. Buried in her attempt to master a caprice by Paganini, she was indeed almost smiling. It was in one of the lulls of her attempt, when the lure of painted hummingbirds had grown too great that the door opened with a push and Jacqui made her entrance.

Had Stephanie been at that moment engaged in playing her instrument, it was likely that Jacqui would have taken her leave, not wishing to disturb man or beast (and Stephanie seemed rather closer to the latter,) and gone on her way unnoticed. Alas for both,Stephanie had been too long distracted by the superb coloured plates that she held rather close to short sighted eyes. 

“Oh do buck up and shift like a good one,” was the rather brusque greeting given to Stephanie. “It’s been simply an age since I’ve had a chance for music.”

It was unfortunate that Stephanie had been feeling almost happy before the interruption, for it irritated her even more to have it snatched away from her by this loud girl who didn’t seem to care for music at all, except as an occasional diversion between endless rounds of lacrosse and hockey and tennis and all the other commonplace sports at this terrible school. Not being much in the habit of respecting authority, even the awe-inspiring measure that accrues to that of a head girl of a form, she made no reply bar the almost inaudible “I was here first.”  


“Well you weren’t practicing,” said Jacqui firmly. “If you want to read bird-books, you can do so in the form-room. You could talk to Natalie Martin, she’s a regular twitcher.” This; intended as a pacifier was in fact a red rag to a bull.

A look of the coldest dislike was directed at Jacqui. “Don’t you call me names,” Stephanie Maturin said ferociously, and actually advanced a step or two as though her thort dark haired frame could really menace anyone. “This is my practice time, I booked it especially, use another room.”

“They’re all locked,” was the equable response, “besides it’s almost the hour so your time must nearly be up. Why don’t you cut it short and come back tomorrow?”

Stephanie’s gorge rose. What did this tall blond girl know of the difficulties in getting Miss Peters to sign off on this evening usage of the practice room? The horsey woman had made it clear she thought Stephanie would be better off in the stables, or on a good long walk to clear her head, and besides it was twenty minutes to the hour. Twenty minutes of peace and quiet, where no silly squealing greeted the sight of a spider, and no well meaning girl attempted to engage her in conversation about how barren Ireland must be. “No, this is my time,” she snapped viciously.

Jacqui was unable to understand the stubborness. Stephanie hadn’t been practicing, that much was clear to her practical soul, and with the common regard for rules and traditions that often afflicts those most inclined to break them she viewed the case with suspicion. There was no denying that the new girl was being rude, and needed to be put in her place a little, and with this in mind she advanced to give a little lecture on the foolishness of being a jolly sight too big for her boots in a new school. 

She was arrested though by the sight of two pert mice staring at her from the table, which as though by one accord began to scuttle towards her. Brave as a lion when faced with the six foot Amazons of St Clares, or an abnormally strong riptide or a school ghost (she had been tested against all of these things in her time,) still her weakness was a mouse and she could not forbear from hastily leaving lest they come too close. To add insult to ignominious retreat, the first laugh that issued from the new girl was at her expense, a hoarse dry barking little laugh, as though a seal gave vent to mirth, and it struck iron to her soul. There would be no bearing Stephanie Maturin after that.


End file.
